i would so joust in this

anonymous asked:

Hiccup my friend, do you go by hiccup in every day life? Or just by Rayne and us tumblr folks? Also how did you get that name? Also I love you but I’m winning that joust!

Hiccup is my cosplay name and my online name. Rayne calls me by my real name otherwise. When the first how to train your dragon came out - I realized that Hiccup and I are very similar. I make a lot of his weird noise and make a lot of his weird faces - So Rayne actually started calling me Hiccup when I would do those weird things. I relate to him SO much, it stuck! ❤️

Also - Keep dreaming. ;) The victory will be mine!!

Men’s Lives Have Meaning, Part 7: Conclusion

Full series here

A Dance with Dragons begins, appropriately enough, from the point of view of a dragon. 

Before Mance, Varamyr Sixskins had been a lord of sorts. He lived alone in a hall of moss and mud and hewn logs that had once been Haggon’s, attended by his beasts. A dozen villages did him homage in bread and salt and cider, offering him fruit from their orchards and vegetables from their gardens. His meat he got himself. Whenever he desired a woman he sent his shadowcat to stalk her, and whatever girl he’d cast his eye upon would follow meekly to his bed. Some came weeping, aye, but still they came. Varamyr gave them his seed, took a hank of their hair to remember them by, and sent them back. From time to time, some village hero would come with spear in hand to slay the beastling and save a sister or a lover or a daughter. Those he killed, but he never harmed the women. 

That’s what Varamyr was: an archetypal monster-in-a-cave, the classic village dragon that every RPG needs. The Sixskins preyed on all life within a prowl’s reach, his entire life a tribute to domination of others on every possible plane, breaking every border that another being might think to set around themselves. He began feeding on those unlucky “dozen villages” after killing his mentor and eating his fuckin’ heart, and they’ve been living with the monster in the woods ever since. It’s not something anyone ever has to talk about. It’s something that everyone simply knows, out here in this particular stretch of the wild. A fact of life, a splinter in your mind, a fire behind a shadowcat’s eyes, and the fire whispers walk with me…

Varamyr thus combines the ruthless exploitation of your average feudal lord with supervillain powers and a serial killer’s personal life; even the Boltons would have to doff their caps at the pain-racket the skinchanger had going north of the Wall. Mance shoulda killed him and threw his head at the villagers’ feet, but the temptation to use him as a weapon proved too strong. After all, who needs the real Horn of Winter when you have an apocalypse that walks like a man, the closest approximation we get to the nuclear-fired cthuloid maw of a Euron Crowseye POV? Varamyr was It, Pennywise the goddamn dancing clown, for a generation of wildlings across a dozen villages. He was the darkness at the edge of town, feeding off of them and among them at will. He’s there to…what’s the phrase…ah yes: “to give the heroes something to fight.”

It was only natural, then, that they started showing up at his doorstep. Never quite as tall as they thought they were, these heroes, the dragon would sigh every time as he uncoiled and moved towards the door. Never so strong, nor so quick. They must have thought it would feel differently than this, he mused as he approached them. They thought they would be able to hear the songs to be written of their triumph in their ears, rather than their own heart drumming a nervous beat and the shrieks of their companions (those that had made it this far). They thought the gods would guide their hand to strike the beast true, or some such rot, never realizing until it was too late that the gods weren’t home and it was just them and the nightmares. They are (the dragon would always pause to think in the heartbeat before he began bathing in their blood) doing what they think they’re supposed to do, the best thing they know how to do, as far as their cattle brains are concerned. Scared, maybe–certainly–but they were there. They were going to save their lovers, avenge their families, slay the feared and hated Sixskins, or die trying. They were ready, in the name of Story, to dance with dragons. 

The dragon was only too happy to oblige. He killed them as they came, one by one, ultimately putting about as much effort into it as you or I might put into scrubbing dead skin away in the shower. Like the Wild Hares, their songs and screams waft together, blurred, intertwined, one amidst the brittle branches, before slipping up, out, and away, caught on the stiff morning breeze. In a tossed-off paragraph, Varamyr offers us a glimpse of dozens of Hero’s Journeys that he personally short-circuited.

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Benjen had insisted she just dump all the armor in the river, shield included, and be done with it. One might even say he begged her to do so, afeared for her life as he was. “The Mad King will kill you if he finds you out,” Benjen had hissed at her in her tent last night. “Or worse.”

“Fine– I’ll dump the armor,” Lyanna had conceded. “But we worked hard on that shield! It would be such a waste to just throw it away!”

“My lady, I would not have you endanger yourself any further,” Howland said solemnly. “I am already in your debt. Let me dispose of the armor, and the shield.”

Lyanna sighed, defeated. “Very well, Lord Reed. You shall take the armor for me, but I will take the shield.”

“Lya!” Benjen had groaned. “If you’re caught–”

“I won’t get caught, stupid,” Lyanna countered with a playful shove. “I never get caught.”

While she would never admit it, Lyanna had always had a fondness for poetry. There was something undoubtedly poetic about a vanished mystery knight turned fugitive who left no trace of himself but his shield, hung in a tree. The less poetic part was climbing said tree in a dress, battling the wind and branches until she reached a proper height, but it was lucky she was alone.

Or so she thought.

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Game of Thrones Preferences/Imagines: How You Meet

Originally posted by thebestofgameofthrones

Tyrion Lannister:

You met Tyrion when he accidentally stumbled into you, in a drunken stupor. He had spilled his chalice of wine down your dress and threw up on your shoes. He quickly wiped the filth from his mouth and looked up into your (e/c) eyes. “My lady, where do I begin to apologize?” He asked.

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared down at the little lord in amazement. How could such a handsome man be such a drunken little lecher? “You could start by buying me a new dress and uhm, new shoes.” You replied.

He smiled widely. “A Lannister always pays his debts.”

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Guys, I’m so mad. You know how in A Knight’s Tale (probably my favorite ridiculous movie) Heath Ledger’s character’s pseudonym is Ulrich von Liechtenstein?

Ulrich von Liechtenstein was a real person, who actually wrote an autobiography about how many jousts he won for his lady. My mind is blown. I never knew, and I studied medieval history a fair bit. If I wasn’t currently obsessed with knights and chivalry, and if Amazon hadn’t sent me this recommendation, I probably would have never known.

Also, props on the title Ulrich.

anonymous asked:

Do you think Benjen ever knew or suspected the that Jon was not actually Ned's bastard?

Yes, I do. More than suspected, in fact: I think Benjen, while not (obviously) present for Jon’s conception or birth, was actively involved in facilitating Lyanna’s running away to meet with Rhaegar. Not that I think this alone forced him to join the Night’s Watch - I could see where it was always ordained that third son Benjen would go to the Watch (much like third son Waymar Royce), to avoid the sort of Stark dynastic infighting which I believe Lord Rickard’s own marriage was designed to limit - but that certainly Benjen has carried with him the secret of Jon’s parentage for the better part of two decades.

Essentially, what I think happened is that Lyanna spent the roughly year between Harrenhal and her “abduction" trying to think of a way to meet the crown prince (assuming they had agreed to meet again in a year at the tourney, which I think they did) and thus get out of her upcoming marriage to Robert. After the shocking end to the tourney at Harrenhal, Lord Rickard and/or her overseer in the Stark household would probably have kept a strict eye on her, lest further scandal attach itself to Lyanna and her betrothal risk being cancelled. She could hardly tell ambitious Rickard about Rhaegar’s proposal, or hotheaded Brandon, or she’d be certain of never seeing the crown prince again. Quiet and kind brother Ned might have been helpful, but he would have been back in the Eyrie, and she could hardly trust the bombshell idea of running away with the married prince to a raven, or the maesters who would be handling it.

But then there was little Benjen. Ben, who had been her childhood playmate, dueling with her in Winterfell’s godswood against the wishes of Lord Rickard. Ben, who had been so helpful with Howland at Harrenhal - finding the crannogman a suitable outfit for the great feast, and offering to scour up a horse and armor for young Reed - and in all likelihood had helped Lyanna piece together a makeshift suit of armor to joust. Baby Ben, no more than an adolescent or young teenager - old enough to understand her situation, but not old enough to do anything consequential the way Rickard or Brandon could to stop it. Benjen would be able to help her.

So what I think happened is that Lyanna explained to Benjen what she and Rhaegar had discussed at Harrenhal, and Benjen - eager to help his fiercely determined older sister and playmate, especially if she emphasized how unhappy she felt being forced to marry Robert - agreed to assist her escape. Benjen would cover for Lyanna, stalling for time while she put all her horsemanship to the test and rode like hell for Harrenhal. But, of course, nothing went exactly as Lyanna planned, and I could see where Benjen felt a tremendous amount of guilt for helping her; if only he hadn’t, maybe Rickard wouldn’t have been burned alive, or Brandon strangled, or Lyanna herself died in a faraway tower in the lonely Red Mountains.

I don’t know if Ned and Benjen ever explicitly talked about Jon’s true parentage, particularly in the time between Ned returning from the war and Benjen taking the black, but I wouldn’t be surprised that, even without an explicit conversation, Benjen would have come to the conclusion. Lyanna tells him about her plans to marry Rhaegar; Lyanna disappears with Rhaegar to the south; many months later his famously honorable brother comes home, having brought with him a northern-looking baby whose official story is that he is Ned’s son. The implications of the truth of the baby’s parentage would be enormously dangerous - the last child of the dead Targaryen crown prince, alive and safe in defiance of the new Baratheon regime - and so while others might have easily swallowed Ned’s cover story, Benjen, one of the very few who knew the truth about Rhaegar and Lyanna, might have been deeply suspicious, understanding why Ned would want to hide the truth. (Of course, he and Ned might well have talked about it - Benjen feeling he needed to unburden himself to someone and Ned, who had seen Lyanna die, would be the only one who could understand, or Ned thinking his sole remaining brother could handle this profoundly dangerous truth.)

So yes, I very much believe Benjen knows Jon is the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

I really want a Zelink Renaissance Faire AU

  • ofc it wouldn’t be REAL history, it’d be Hylian history, but that’s just as good
  • The Faire comes to Faron and they’re getting ready to set up shop for the next two months
  • Zelda plays the Queen Zelda 
  • It’s basically her dream job. She’s SUCH a history dork 
  • Her mom named her after the Queen. of COURSE she needed to play her
  • Link gets dragged along by his younger sister one day and is at one of the jousting events when he sees Zelda climb onto the throne and is immediately 100% smitten. Of course, everyone’s in character so he has no way to go see her, the guards would never let her through
  • To his surprise tho, one of the knights picks him for the audience participation part of the joust. Link is like. OH SHIT. THIS IS MY CHANCE TO WOO THE QUEEN. 
  • The boy has never ridden a horse in his life. He fails so bad. It’s the worst thing in his life
  • But he makes Zelda laugh. When all the audience members are brought before the queen, she gives him her handkerchief to wipe the dirt off his face and he kisses her hand. The guards around her are S C A N D E L I Z E D in character
  • but really sheik, impa, gonzo, and niko are all her very good friends and THEY SEE THAT BLUSH
  • They’ve been on “Operation Get-Zelda-Laid” since April
  • Anyway Link keeps coming back to the Faire when he can to see her and he starts dressing up (who else but the Hero?) because he realizes how fun it is 
  • He brings her flowers and since she has to stay in character she has to be suuuuper coy about it but really she has THE BIGGEST CRUSH
  • The guards look the other way when Link comes by so they can sneak a few minutes together every once and a while
  • He enters into the hand-to-hand combat tournament because the winner will get to be “King for the Day” and Link will be DAMNED if he lets that opportunity pass up
  • He isn’t good with a sword at all–surprise
  • BUT HE LEARNS FOR HER. And by the time the last day of the Faire comes around Link is full Hero and ready to win this tournament
  • AND HE DOES! There’s a whole ceremony and he gets crowned and they go backstage 
  • And Link is SO SHOCKED when she finally drops character and is like, “This has been killing me for months. Can I have your number???”
  • And he’s like “Can I have a kiss?”
  • And she smiles and replies, “Who would I be to refuse my King?” 

**Feel free to use, just don’t forget to let me know and please credit (link back to the post)

(this is wildly a jumbled mess and I apologize for my rambling thoughts)

Continuing off of this post and my love of repeating history:

the tourney at Ashford

for those not familiar with this event, the tourney at Ashford was held in order to celebrate the 13th birthday of the namesake Lord’s daughter, the Lady Ashford. In this tourney, the knights would joust each other for the honor of being her champion and, at the end, the final champion would decide if she was to remain the queen of love and beauty (sound familiar?)

The five knight who ended up, at one point or another, being her champions were:

1. Lyonel Baratheon
2. Leo Tyrell
3. Tybolt Lannister
4. Humphrey Hardyng
5. Valarr Targaryen

A common theory is that this list is a list for the men Sansa will either be married or betrothed to, which means that Sansa will end the series married to a Targaryen (either f!Aegon or Jon, depending on who is telling the theory)

I propose something slightly different

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Disney’s The Sword in the Stone - sentence starters

1. “S/he’s a regular little grasshopper, isn’t s/he? Look at him/her go.” 

2. “Don’t tell me you’re going in there. Why, it’s swarming with wolves.” 

3. “S/he’s alive! And s/he talks.” 

4. “That won’t be invented for hundreds of years.” 

5. “I’m training to be a squire. I’m learning the rules of combat, and swordsmanship, and jousting, and horsemanship.”  

6. “Very well. We’ll pack and be on our way.” 

7. “What a way to pack.” 

8. “How else would you get all this stuff into one suitcase, I’d like to know?” 

9. “Don’t you get any foolish ideas that magic will solve all your problems. Because it won’t.” 

10. “What’s the big idea of gallivanting off into the woods and worrying the living daylights out of everybody?” 

11. “The name is _____, and I happen to be the world’s most powerful wizard.” 

12. “I’m gone, but then I am not gone. So if I do leave, you can never be sure that I am gone.” 

13. “What in thunder is a monster like that doing in the moat?” 

14. S/he only wants rules so s/he can break them.”  

15. “I swallowed a bug!” 

16. “It’s up to you how far you’ll go. If you don’t try you’ll never know.” 

17. “There! You see? I’m a ugly, horrible, grouchy old wo/man.” 

18. “The kitchen! It’s under an evil spell! It’s bewitched!” 

19. “You call washing dishes and sweeping floors a work of evil?” 

20. “Just because you can’t understand something, it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” 

21. “I’m sorry I spoiled everything. I know that trip meant a great deal to you.” 

22. “I have nothing to do with your futuristic fiddle-faddle. You know that.” 

23. “Now, to start off, I want you to read these books.” 

24. “Man’ll fly alright… like a rock!” 

25. “I’ve always dreamed about flying. That I was a bird, and that I could go sailing all over the sky, high above everything.” 

26. “Flying is not merely some crude mechanical process. It is a delicate art.” 

27. “I find delight in the gruesome and grim.” 

28. “Black sorcery is my dish of tea. It comes easy to me.” 

29. “I hate sunshine! I hate horrible, wholesome sunshine!”

30. “You were really great, _____, but you could have been killed.”

31. “___ the king/queen? What a dreadful thought.” 

32. “And I thought you were going to amount to something. I thought you had a few brains!” 

33. “What’ll I do? ____’s got to have a sword.” 

34. “I can’t be a king/queen, ____. I don’t know anything about ruling a country.” 

35. “I’m in an awful pickle. I’m king/queen!” 

36. “That big fish almost swallowed me, and ______, s/he saved me!” 

37. “S/he’s either out of his/her head, or there’s something mighty fishy going on around here.” 

38. “No one will know the difference. Who cares as long as the work gets done?” 

39. “You’re on your own, ____. I’m afraid magic can’t solve this problem.” 

40. “How do you ever expect to amount to anything without an education, I’d like to know?”     

Presents for a King

It was the first day of the new year, the first in a new century. King Joffrey would marry Lady Margaery today.

Queen Cersei solemnly presented Joff with the wife’s cloak that he would drape over Margaery’s shoulders. “It is the cloak I donned when your father took me for his queen, the same cloak my mother Lady Joanna wore when wed to my lord father.”

 Sansa thought it looked threadbare, if truth be told, but perhaps because it was so used.

Then it was time for gifts. It was traditional in the Reach to give presents to bride and groom on the morning of their wedding:

Golden bows and red leather jousting saddles, a huge chalice and even whole ships were promised. Joffrey was pleased and even smiled when thanking the Lords and Ladies.

 He plays the gracious king today. Joffrey could be gallant when it suited him, Sansa knew, but it seemed to suit him less and less. 

Indeed, all his courtesy vanished at once when Tyrion presented him with their own gift: a huge old book called Lives of Four Kings

“And what is this, Uncle?”

 "Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good,“ her small husband answered. "A book every king should read, Your Grace.”

"If you read less, Uncle Imp, perhaps Lady Sansa would have a baby in her belly by now.” He laughed. “Don’t be sad, Sansa, once I’ve gotten Queen Margaery with child I’ll visit your bedchamber and show my little uncle how it’s done.”

 Sansa reddened. She glanced nervously at Tyrion, afraid of what he might say.

  Lord Tywin waited until last to present the king with his own gift: a longsword.

 King Joffrey looked as if he wanted to kill someone right then and there, he was so excited. He slashed at the air and laughed. “I name it Widow’s Wail!” he cried. “Yes! It shall make many a widow, too!”

 Joffrey brought Widow’s Wail down in a savage twohanded slice, onto the book that Tyrion had given him. The heavy leather cover parted at a stroke. “Sharp! I told you, I am no stranger to Valyrian steel.” It took him half a dozen further cuts to hack the thick tome. Sansa could feel her husband struggling with his fury.

 "Your Grace,“ Tyrion said. "Perhaps you did not know. In all of Westeros there were but four copies of that book.”

 "Now there are three. You and Lady Sansa owe me a better present, Uncle Imp. This one is all chopped to pieces.“

From George RR Martin’s A Storm of Swords Chapter 59 (Sansa IV) - edited.

Next>

Beyond Honor and Oaths (3/7)

The sound of the blades singing with the crashing of the ocean breeze draws her to the cliffs looking over the shores.

The first thing she sees is his golden hand, glinting in the sunlight as he pushed away the blade held over his head.

The second is the leer on his face as he pushes the Maid of Tarth’s sword away from his face to which she responded with a quick jab of her tourney sword against his flank. 

His leer changes to a grimace and she takes the opportunity to fling his sword away from his left hand. 

“Again.”

“I should have asked Tyrion’s friend instead of you.”

“And have me miss the absolute joy of beating you into the ground?”

“You would never have beaten me with my sword hand.”

“If I remember correctly I had beaten you with your sword hand.”

“I spent the past year in chains, swimming in my own shit!”

“Doesn’t matter I still beat you.”

Jaime responds to that by crouching and throwing his body weight to bring the ghastly monster guffawing at him in a large tackle and he proceeded to straddle her waist, his left hand poking into her side. 

“Yield!”

“Never!” She screamed as she tried to buck out from under Jaime’s hips which only resulted in him tightening his legs around her and using the scruff of his beard to nuzzle at her neck. 

“Yield!”

She broke into a fit of laughter, loud and joyous before rasping out that she yielded.

Jaime grins triumphantly before realizing the precarious position he was in and immediately flew off the Maid of Tarth, stuttering in an awkward apology.

She waved off his concern, and picked up her sword again.

“Try again. And this time use your left instead of your right hand. You might as well remove that golden monstrosity. It’s not helping you.”

Without a second thought Jaime unstrapped the majestic golden hand she spent ages with the smith to make, throwing it aside as if it were nothing and squaring off with the Maid of tarth again.

She watched hi, until the sun set, until the pair of them were sweaty slobbering messes trudging their way back to the Red Keep. 

She waited for him to come to her chambers, and when he didn’t, asked his squire where the Lord of Casterly Rock had gone, only to be told that his lordship was still in the baths, with the Lady Brienne. 

She told herself she should not have gone. He was unlikely to cheat on her, he loved her, there was no way this ghastly beast can take him from her. She was his other half. She was the one who shared a womb with him. She was the mother of his children. 

So imagine her surprise when upon arriving at the bath, she finds him in the same tub as the Maid of Tarth. 

Oh sure, they were not touching, and there was an ocean in between the both of them, and she hugging her knees close to her chest, and he was not looking at her body.

They seemed to be just two soldiers, just two comrades sharing a bath, not a man and woman.

And yet, the sight of Jaime sitting there, looking fondly at the ugly bitch twisted her insides into a knot. 

“Why is it that it’s only me that reveals my dark secrets whenever we’re in a bath wench?”

The ugly monster rolls her eyes at the word and flicks water towards Jaime’s direction. 

“I told you not to call me that.”

Yet there was a smile on her lips, and familiarity in her eyes. 

“You know you love it. Wench.”

The monster sighs and hugs her knees tighter, resting her cheek on them. 

“It’s no use telling you there’s another tub is there?”

“You know where you are suits me just fine.”

The wench flushes, and Jaime merely laughs at her indulgently. He should be mocking her. He should be telling her how ugly she was. 

And yet…

“I like it when you blush. Lady Brienne. Very Lannister of you.”

She does not reply, and they sit in companionable silence for a while before she speaks, her voice soft, and her eyes faraway. 

“I was engaged twice, before I went to Storm’s End to save Renly. The first, I fashioned myself in love with him. He was a knight, you see, though a mere hedge knight, but he told me stories of his tourneys and jousts. Promised me he would take me, would teach me. And then one night… as I was sneaking into the stables to prepare my mare for tomorrow’s tourney, I heard him, speaking with the other knights and lordlings who came into the celebration. They had a wager you see, on when he could bed me before the wedding. And so hit him over the head and told my father. He was removed from the island after that. The second was with a young lord my father chose. I never met him, but when he saw me he offered me a single red rose. And said that was all I was ever to get from him, It didn’t break my heart, I hardly knew him, and yet I was embarrassed.  I knew I was ugly… and yet I was still shamed. After that I begged my father to let me be, to accept the truth, that I will never be a proper lady and the best thing for me to do was to live the life of a knight.”

Her brother does not reply, he only remained silent looking over at the ugly beast, probably thinking how right those men were and envying how they escaped while he was trapped.

“I am glad that they did that.”

She grins as the beast looks away hurt in her eyes.

“No, not in the way you think. I am glad they were stupid enough to do that, otherwise… I would have missed you wouldn’t I? And I think that would be a great shame, if I never met you. Brienne.”

She looks up at him, and says nothing.

But she didn’t need to.

They stared at each other’s eyes, oblivious to her, as she turned her back from them, the name of that beast spoken in Jaime’s voice, full of longing and love resonating in her ears.

She was dressed in a blue dress, fashioned and tailored to accentuate her height, and fit her better than any she owned. It was not feminine by any chance, and not as glorious as other court dresses, but it made her… formidable. Made her look almost a beauty. 

On her hips was the golden lion that was the symbol of their house, attached to the sword that Jaime had gifted her in place of rings on their betrothal held on the night before her son’s wedding.

Their son. 

And yet Jaime only had eyes for the beastly woman who shed a tear over a sword. 

She found the idea absurd, a sword for a wedding.

But the beast’s eyes had watered, and she reverently pulled the blade from it’s scabbard.

“Valyrian steel.” She murmured as her large stupid eyes welled and watered, and Jaime could only look at her his own eyes misty.

“They say the best swords have names. Any ideas?”

She stares at him, for a beat, a second and whispers “Oathkeeper.”

And Jaime swallows, and stares at her intently before breaking into the biggest smile she had ever seen on his face. 

And now, he was standing there, next to the ghastly beast, pulling her in for a dance, which she refuses. 

Soon, one of the Western Lords calls him, and he leaves the beast and she finally sees a chance. 

“Lady Brienne.”

“Your Grace.”

She smiles cheerfully at her, as if she did nothing wrong. 

As if she was not stealing Cersei’s life. 

“I have to thank you. You brought my brother safely back. To me.”

She merely nods and fingers the golden lion at her hip.

“In truth he saved me your grace. More than once.”

Her eyes slitted. The audacity of this child, as if she means anything to Jaime. 

“It must be fascinating for you then, pledging to one and then the other. Flickering from one engagement to the next. Tell me… how fairs your last betrothed? Think he’ll give you more than a rose now?”

She lets the words sink, lets the implication set it before a storm took over the beast’s eyes and she looks to Jaime who meets her eyes.

The beast turns her eyes back to hers and mumbles a Your Grace before running out of the room. 

She looks back to Jaime, to share with him the joy of tormenting this beast but he wasn’t there anymore, he was already half way to the running beast, all the worry in his face. 

And she could only stare. 

To be continued…

Another Crypt of the Necrodancer boss idea! This guys wasn’t used but I thought he would be fun to share. His name is a pun on Arpeggio which is a kind of broken chord. The designs didn’t really grab any of us so we moved onto other cool stuff! I always liked seeing things that didn’t quite make the cut.

Sunburn In My Eyes

Lady Whent, last of her line, who dwelt with her ghosts in the cavernous vaults of Harrenhal.

— Catelyn V, A Game of Thrones

*

“In the beginning,” said Shella, “there is a ruin.”

“Once upon a time,” the girl, Pia, piped up, “there is doom.” She giggled. “M’lady Whent promised a good story.”

Shella kept on arranging her fruit bowl. In a little while she would be finished, with each lemon curve cradled just right against each apple plumpness, and every pomegranate skin gleaming against the bowl’s porcelain rim. And after all that, Shella would hasten to depart Harrenhal. She had lions nearing her gates.

In a little while.

For now, she would arrange her fruit bowl, like she always did after breakfast. She would talk to herself like she always did, and tolerate the girl, the fool, chattering away in the shadows.

“Once upon a time, I pricked myself with needles,” Pia went on. “Lots of times. Twas cause sometimes I get startled. I think I see some ghosts.”

The sole lighted lamp, glowing damply against the weight of the cavernous chamber and the pre-dawn stillness, cast enough light so that Shella could see what the girl was doing. She was washing each fruit in a copper basin. Shella spared a thought to be glad that the girl was rather careful with drying the fruits before handing them to her. Pia did sew like each stitch was an afterthought.

“In the beginning,” Shella told the pomegranate she was arranging, “Harrenhal was ruined. It all started there. It was ruined for the realm to be born.”

*

"No,” Minisa laughed, playfully sprinkling Shella’s face with the water for Minisa’s flowers. “No. Everything started with a beam of sunlight.”

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anonymous asked:

Winteriron?

I suppose I could cheat and point you at Mute!Tony, but that’s some fairly soft WinterIron, and is really more like Tony&Bucky than it is Tony/Bucky in the published stuff. And I guess I could point you at the Stuckony fic on Ao3 but that also feels like cheating. So. the only WiP I have that is slated to be straight up WinterIron is Before the Dawn. Which, yeesh. It’ll be a monster if/when I get it done. 

And since I said I would, below the cut is an excerpt from that WiP, but not the start bc that part isn’t Tony and Bucky talking and this part is. All you need to know is that Steve is missing and they woke Bucky up to help.

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anonymous asked:

As long as the wait has been, all these pics of Nikolaj looking hot af make it a bit more tolerable. I look forward to Nik's post 7x07 interviews the most though. The poor guy wants Jaime to gtfo out of KL as much as we do, if not more. Hopefully, this is Jaime's season and the writers do him justice.

Those pics have been the death and revival of me both at the same time, which was pretty much the most curious out-of-body experience of my life. Anyway… I was Jon Snow and I knew nothing about how hot a guy can be. *shakes head*

I am always looking forward to basically any interview, but yeah, I am really curious about his interviews following season 7 finale.

Who can blame him, LOL? Honestly, even for Jaime as a character, the only one who wants him there… I don’t even think Cersei cares past a certain point, at least the moment on he comes with things such as… reason… and… his own motivations… and feelings… and desires… like ugh. How dare he have a mind of his own? 😉

I keep the fingers crossed for this being one of his big seasons. That whole scene of him on the horse for “Joust-en We Have a Problem” from the trailer already gave me some WILD hopes.

The notion I am not so much on-board with is this having to do a character “justice” tbh. I hope for Jaime having a good season, and I hope that we finally move out of the delay pattern, but if I were to say that I hope that they “finally do him justice” would, by implication, mean that they haven’t done so before, and that is something I cannot sign up to because we yet have to see how the next season pans out. It may well be that once we see the breakup and all those other things, we will get a better understanding as to why the producers had him on delay-pattern the way they were. So long all of that pans out satisfactorily, I will be the last one to complain.

So yeah, I do hope that this finally happens by the end of season 7 so that we can move into season 8 for all of that JB awkwardness and lurve and lurve-y awkwardness that I am craving since forever.

*moans*

So many headcanons.

So many opportunities.

So little time.

BECAUSE THE NEW SEASON HAS ARRIVED!!!

FEEL THE HYPE!!!

Originally posted by wackygoofball

Originally posted by wackygoofball

Originally posted by wackygoofball

anonymous asked:

If you're an unwed knight with no lady love you're courting, what's the protocol for naming a Queen of Love and Beauty at a tourney? Do you have to name the noblewoman of highest rank there, like the queen should she be attending? Do you honor the wife or daughters of the host? Should you crown a relative of yours like your mum? Can you throw the flower crown like a bouquet into a group of ladies? If you have a bastard daughter, is it going to get you killed to crown her?

Thanks for the question, Anon.

That’s a good question, and unfortunately one limited by our relatively small pool of known Queens of Love and Beauty. We don’t know how required it is for a knight to honor a woman at a tourney, or how often it actually happens. Only four women were ever named by victors of tourneys as Queens of Love and Beauty - then-Queen Naerys, named by her brother Aemon; then-Princess Rhaella, named by Bonifer Hasty; Lyanna Stark, named by Prince Rhaegar; and Lynesse Hightower, named by Jorah Mormont - though Rhaenyra makes a possible fifth (Gyldayn says that, after the melee at Maidenpool in 104 AC, Ser Criston Cole gave Rhaenyra “the victor’s laurel”, though the archmaester does not explicitly name her Queen of Love and Beauty, and whether the same chivalric rules apply to melees as to jousts are unsettled in our knowledge of Westeros).

That being said, I think a good place to start thinking about this question is the thought Barristan has in ADWD concerning his plans for if he had won at Harrenhal:

Rhaegar had chose Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would has been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia’s companions…though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab.

There’s a pretty clear calculus in Barristan’s head when thinking about the woman he would have honored: “not the queen”, followed by “nor Elia of Dorne" - that is to say, the crown princess, and with Rhaella the two highest-ranking women in Westeros. Barristan knows the chivalric rules in and out - he had done well in and/or won at least five major jousts/melees before Harrenhal - and so I think we can take his calculus as some baseline on what a knight “should” be thinking when he decides to crown a woman as Queen of Love and Beauty.

It’s sensible, after all, to think first of naming the highest-ranking woman present as Queen of Love and Beauty. On the one hand, it’s part of the game of courtly love: the victorious knight worshiping from afar the unreachable, supreme beauty that is the lady of the castle; the lady herself, at the summit of all vassals’ desires, accepts the strange role reversal - the subservient man and the ruling woman - while still remaining untouchable. There is, however, a more practical benefit than merely this amusing ideal. To suggest that another woman exceeds the highest-ranking lady there upsets this courtly balance, and may subsequently be seen as an insult - and in a land where personal relationships and gestures are so key to political decisions, a courtly insult to a high-ranking woman might effectively shut out a knight from great lordly favor, especially depending on how high the woman’s rank and how lowly the knight.

Now, that being said, there is some room for maneuverability within that calculus, depending on both the knight himself and the context of the tourney. Would, for example, Barristan Selmy’s naming Ashara Dayne the Queen of Love and Beauty at Harrenhal have been cause for sensation, even with Princess Elia present? I tend to think not: Ashara might have come below the princess she served in rank (although not so far - she was still a lady companion to the crown princess, after all), but she was not betrothed to any man, and Barristan himself, as a member of the Kingsguard, was (at least supposedly) celibate and wed only to his duty, so it may have seemed only a chaste acknowledgement of Ashara's evident beauty (and, as I’ll talk about in a second, there can be strong romantic/sexual overtones to the naming of a Queen of Love and Beauty). Conversely, Bran’s remembered story about Aemon the Dragonknight suggests that either King Aegon IV himself or (perhaps if Aegon had gotten too obese to joust) his loyal noble flunkies desired to crown Aegon’s current mistress as Queen of Love and Beauty; this would ordinarily be a gross violation of chivalric rules - crowning a mistress in front of a wife and queen - but was permitted, even encouraged, in the lascivious court of the Unworthy King. We don’t know if Queen Aemma was present for that meleee at Maidenpool, but even if she had been it might not have seemed so unorthodox for Criston Cole to offer her daughter, rather than the queen herself, the laurel: Rhaenyra was the Realm’s Delight, the courtiers’ pet, doted upon by all, including her royal father; Criston, no fool, might have supposed that honoring the king’s much-favored daughter would be a means of advancing his own standing in the king’s eyes.  

As I mentioned, though, there can often be an implicit romantic/sexual message contained in the choice of the Queen of Love and Beauty. Winning that crown gives a knight the chance to single out a woman in a great crowd of nobility as particularly beautiful and desirable, and for an unmarried man, such a move might be the first step toward declaring an interest in betrothing himself to this woman. It’s no coincidence, I think, that Lord Ashford threw his infamous tourney to celebrate his maiden daughter’s thirteenth nameday (a traditional age for betrothals among highborn maids) and made her the initial queen of love and beauty: doubtless he was hoping that the eventual winner, instead of declaring a new queen, would confirm her as Queen of Love and Beauty, perhaps even think of her as a potential bride. Jorah’s case is a more obvious example, with Jorah not only singling out the Maiden of Oldtown for the honor but then using his winning to ask for her hand. Moreover, I think it needs little repeating how wildly rule-breaking Rhaegar’s actions were at the Tourney of Harrenhal: as crown prince and a seeming living embodiment of chivalry, he passed over his own wife (the crown princess, no less, to go back to the first point) and honored the fiancée of his future bannerman, the Lord of Storm’s End - perhaps appearing, to the onlookers, as though he were offering to make Lyanna his official mistress.  

In terms of some of the specific scenarios suggested … maybe, depending on what the champion wanted to say with his gesture. Tourneys, after all, are public stages for the nobility, a rare opportunity for a good number of different Houses to gather in a single place; at the moment when a Queen of Love and Beauty is named, a knight has a singular chance to have all eyes focused on him and his actions. Maybe, for example, a young (and unmarried) lord who had just come out of his regency would offer the crown to his mother, in testament to her importance as his regent (though some onlookers might wonder why he did not have his eye on any of the eligible women who would certainly be present). On a related note, I could see where Brandon Stark might have chosen his sister had he won the day at Harrenhal, and the choice not have been a scandaous one: with his Tully fiancée probably not present, the sister of whom he seemed to be fond was a natural choice, reinforcing the closeness of the Stark clan (and with Aemon, there is precedent for a brother honoring a sister). A bastard daughter would be much harder - a champion would be risking offending every woman of noble rank present by placing a bastard above them, even in the symbolic context of a tourney crowning - though in a very debauched court like that of Aegon IV (not his precisely, since Aegon seemed to care little for his bastard daughters, but one like it), perhaps such a gesture would not have seemed so scandalous. I doubt, however, that any knight would have merely tossed the crown into a crowd, again given the uniqueness of this opportunity to send a message (unless his only options were undesirable to him, but then I can think of better gestures he could make - say, piously declaring at his victory that he would grant the crown only to the Maiden, fairest of all women).

Suffice to say, I think the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty depends on both the knight and the context of the tourney. Who is he - as exalted as a prince, or as lowly as a hedge knight looking to make a name for himself as a tourney champion? Who is present among the ladies, and what is the champion’s relationship to the greatest of them? Is the champion married, and if so is his wife present? Most of all, what sort of message does that knight want to send to the assembled nobility? The answers to these questions would determine what he did with the all-important crown.

The Queen Regent (NFriel)

archiveofourown.org
Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

The sky was low and grey like fresh ashes, snowflakes billowing ever so slowly into the almost still air before falling down on the already white landscape all around the castle. It was as if time itself had stopped to let the ice and snow take over the hills, the roads, the rooftops and the pavement in the courtyards.
The whole world was suspended in a strange stasis made of black, dead trees, old grey stones, some brown patches of mud and an immaculate duvet of pure white snow.

Cat sighed and teared her eyes away from the windows.

The inside of her study was a stark contrast to the outside world, glowing with warm nuances of orange and gold. The fireplace was roaring with the sound of burning logs and the high flames casted a welcoming light across the shelves of books and the wooden furniture spread across the place. Candles were strategically scattered along the walls and around her desk to chase away the cold shadows of the winter weather, adding more gold and more yellow flickers to the soft tones in the room.

She moved away from the windows and came to sit behind her desk, her fingers instantly starting to drum across the polished surface in a gesture that betrayed her impatience.

Finally, a knock on the door echoed across the walls inside of the study.
She briefly shouted an order to let the intruder know they were awaited, and soon enough, Carter appeared in the doorframe with his loyal dog sitting next to his right leg.

“You asked to see me, mother?” He took a few steps inside and closed the wooden panel behind him. The dog instantly came to lay down by the fireplace with his head on his pawns, turned towards his master.

“Yes, Carter. Please, have a seat.” Cat answered with a flourish of her hand, showing him one of the two strict chairs in front of the desk. He narrowed his baby blue eyes at the general disposition of the scene and he shook his head no.

“If it is alright with you, I would prefer to stay standing.” Cat arched a brow at him, but he quite literally stood his ground, without faltering in the slightest.

“I see. In that case …” Cat stood up as well and moved towards the small table located by the couches, near the fireplace. There was a silver plate atop it, with a crystal bottle revealing a beverage whose color changed with every flicker of the flames. The queen poured herself a glass and made it swirl between her fingers, gently, slowly. The amber of the liquid flickered with gold and dark strands of honey before she took a sip, humming appreciatively at the taste.

“I assume you know why I wanted to see you.” Cat’s voice was barely above a whisper, but she was staring at her son, not missing the sparkle of annoyance that shone in his eyes for a split second.

“I have an inkling, yes.” He answered and she had to give it to him, he was acting like a true Grant. He was calm, collected and poised like the king he would become, one day soon.

“Perfect. Now, you can explain to me why Kara is somehow refusing to look me in the eyes and why she always finds some terrible excuses to leave the room whenever you enter it.” Cat ordered with a pointed glare.

She was tired of Kara’s behavior and she had tried to give her space and time, but when it became obvious to her that the knight would never take the first step to talk about it, Cat had decided she would ask her son instead.

“What a strange question, mother,” Carter replied and she saw the shadow of a smirk across his lips. “However, here is something stranger. You’re asking me to explain Kara’s behavior … Shouldn’t you ask her?”

He knew exactly where this discussion was heading and he didn’t even try to hide it. Instead, he was confronting her already and a part of her was proud of him for being such an astute and clever interlocutor.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I know you have something to do with the way she is acting lately and I would very much like to know why. You said something to her, didn’t you?” Cat snapped and she gulped her glass of whiskey before pouring herself a new one.

As clever and astute he was, Carter only debuted in the art of talking like a politician and Cat had decades of training behind her. However, even if two could play that game, today she wanted answers, not to waste any time in a verbal joust against her son.

“I did. I warned her that should she break your heart one more time, I would banish her from my kingdom.” Carter was looking right into her eyes as he spoke.

The blunt admission took Cat’s breath away and she needed a moment to overcome her surprise. A handful of seconds was all she needed to realize the damage those words could have had on Kara’s mind.

Cat stayed silent for a whole minute before slowly, ever so slowly, walking up to her son.


Read more on AO3

All thanks to @racheltuckerrr for the beta reading

Be sure to go praise @genesiswingz AMAZING artwork for the fic ♥

You can find all chapters here 

YuuMika Week Day 03: Knight!Yuu& Royal!Mika

(This blog is run by two people, so this is Samantha here!) 

I HEARD IT WAS MIKAYUU (YuuMika) WEEK AND IM SO IN FOR THAT. I haven’t participated in a character shipping week in YEARS and I’m SO PUMPED!!!

Okay, soo… i kind of took an unusual route with this one?? Because I was like… honhon in the light novels, Ferid owns like an entire castle where he keeps semi-nude children as his playthings and that’s like a castle so technicallyyy it’s royalty. So I’ve stolen the concept of that and used it here, except it’s not necessarily set during the crusades like it is in the light novels. You can just use your imagination for what the setting is lol it’s a very vague time period

 Brief Summary: Yū comes to visit Mika every night on his balcony in Ferid’s castle, but Mika always keeps him at a distance. 

Word Count: 830

Rating: G (Mika’s clothes are transparent but like not really explained)

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sorcererinslytherin  asked:

So in the new Asset Seizure video, the boys do a car heist basically wearing nothing and it's incredible. I'm feeling like the FAHC would absolutely do the same thing. Maybe a dare from Funhaus?

Listen, while i love that thought and could absolutely see it being Funhaus, the fact that they’re wearing awful cowboy hats makes me think of a different culprit.. 

Jeremy, who was so excited about the huge destruction truck they were going to steal, who’d been talking all week about how wicked it looked, how much devastation they would cause, whether or not it could flip his monster truck in a joust. Jeremy who let Gavin and Michael goad him into some stupid dare, who got hurt last second, who’s laid up in bed, knowing the job is too time-sensitive to delay until he’s better. Who tells them all to go ahead, take Ryan in his place, so disgustingly understanding despite his disappointment that they can’t help but feel guilty. Can’t shake it off like they would if he’d been selfish, can’t mock him like they would if he’d been mad, even Jack and Ryan feel bad and they weren’t remotely involved in the accident for gods sake. 

So when Gavin pitches an idea out of desperation, suggests that since Jeremy can’t come along he can instead play boss, be the voice in their ear, the shot caller, the others are all too eager to agree. Can’t see the harm, even after Jeremy jumps on the idea, almost as excited as he’d been about the truck in the first place. As though history has taught them nothing they don’t see Jeremy’s revenge coming until it’s too late, failed to even consider the danger in the way Jeremy immediately declared that there would be a dress code, that costumes would be provided.  It’s not until Trevor and Matt get back from running about doing Jeremy’s shopping and can’t stop laughing that the mood begins to sour. 

Geoff almost chokes to death laughing when Jeremy produces Gavin and Michaels costumes, or lack thereof. Stripped down to silly boxers and bowties like impromptu Chippendale dancers, garnished by a couple of the dozen ludicrous novelty cowboy hats and boots Jeremy is gifted with at every turn, team nice dynamite have never looked quite so unprepared for a heist. Still, true to their word, they resign themselves and quickly start to enjoy the ridiculousness of the whole ordeal; Gavin is legitimately more upset about the crime against fashion than he is the nudity, Michael struts around constantly flexing, and the pair can’t stop striking preposterous imitations of suggestive poses. 

Ryan watches this all go down in silence before turning to Jeremy and reminding him that he was a last second stand in and would be happy to tag out for Geoff. Which lasts all of five seconds after Jeremy reveals Ryan’s costume; the absurd silk and velvet playboy affair barely makes it out of the bag before Ryan starts pulling it on, slapping away Geoff’s grabby hands and declaring that the Lads are now his arguably classless arm-candy. 

Jeremy, being a smart man, tells Jack she can wear whatever she likes. Jack, being Jack, rolls her eyes and declares that if they are doing this they are doing it right, go hard or go home, picks out a hat and goes to sort out her own flashy costume for the world’s most inexplicably underdressed grand theft auto.